Kyrie Eleison
by Kasage Starrunner
Summary: In the cathedral of Notre Dame, Claire finds a way to deal with the deaths Umbrella has caused, close to her and otherwise.


Kyrie Eleison (Lord Have Mercy)   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil is © Capcom, not me. So's Claire and Chris and whoever else works into this. The song "Kyrie Eleison" that is in here is © me. I'm very attached to it mind.   
  


***   
  


Silver streaked across the sky in hazy patches as the fog rolled over the city. Pinpricks of light etched in the sky peered down through the curtain as the moon made halos in its orbit. Notre Dame stood over the road, rose window eye glancing ominous over Paris. There was little left of the past still standing, and however, even Umbrella couldn't demolish the cathedral of so much fame and grandeur.   
  


It remained like a forgotten God repaced by the altrenating red and white circle of the corporation that ruled the world. The rose window and Umbrella-eye glared at each other from across the city, each determined to uproot the ideals instituted by the other. The mist formed a wall between them, as the church offered sanctuary to the weary battlers of the modern world, while the fashionable people continued their steady decline into infamy on the outside.   
  


Claire felt an immediate sigh of relief as she escaped into the dark recesses of the great cathedral. At night time the giant of stone ceased to be a tourist haven and again became the over powering, sacred sanctuary it had been in the middle ages. The blue-eyed Claire sought it for the silence. There was nowhere so soundless as Notre Dame at midnight, and that music was a precious commodity.   
  


The tall woman leaned against a pillar and breathed in the damp, ancient smell of the place, forgetting for a moment was she had come to do in Paris and what she had come to do tonight in Notre Dame. It was nice just to breath.   
  


It was even better just to be.   
  


She turned from the pillar and walked toward the chapels, the words "Let Me Live" barely visible on the back of her vest in the dim light. Rain began to hit the stone outside the cathedral, and though Claire could not hear it she felt the atmosphere change as the dampness increased.   
  


As the sky turns grey 

the clouds turn to rain 

and the drops drain 

Under the ground.   
  


The statues of saints gazed from behind bars as the red-headed girl passed by them. The dead look in there eyes was not unfamiliar and as they watched she felt they could tell that she was no Catholic.   
  


"I'm sorry." she whispered. "I'm here for something."   
  


Something, a reason, an apology, a eulogy, a funeral. A mass funeral. Her leather clad feet hit the cobbled ground as she walked around, searching for the right altar. The eye of the cathedral seemed to watch with more and more pressure as she walked confused. She suddenly felt like she was back in the Ashford Manor, and every small flash of light was a zombie, or a bandersnatch, or something worse.   
  


What blood has tipped my hands? 

I have yet to understand 

above the earth and 

Under the ground.   
  


A pale hand clutched her chest as she wished it would stop beating so fast. There was nothing wrong with the place--it was sacred. Umbrella hands had never touched here, though who knows the stories the catholics told about it. Spain held the Inquisition, but things went on elsewhere.   
  


St. Peter seemed to blink and Claire started. She stared at him for a moment.   
  


"There's always an Umbrella, isn't there?"   
  


Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison. 

Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison.   
  


There was always the chapel of Mary--nothing frightening about the Madonna. Yet what would it mean, to light a candle there? The Mother? She was all of songs and rejoicing, and there was no rejoicement in Claire's heart. Perhaps she misunderstood Mary's role in the Church, but it wasn't right. She had no bloodstains, no dead to speak for, no lost loved ones.   
  


"I wish there was a shrine to Lazarus."   
  


Raised from the dead. If things went wrong in Paris for Umbrella, there were so many corpses buried under years and years of catacombs. People were dead in Notre Dame. People were dead under Notre Dame. People were dead under the sewer in the city. If the T-virus struck it would be like the Plague, another layer of bones and walking dead to have nigthmares about.   
  


The shortness as I breath, 

for all I can't conceive, 

what lies beneath 

Under the ground.   
  


And then there was Steve, the annoying boy whom she could barely understand, locked on Rockfort, then turned into a monster by a crazed maniac. She understood him for a passing moment, and then like the wind he was gone--stolen. She misjudged the aubrun haired boy, sadly misjudged him and now payed with her guilt.   
  


"I failed you again, Claire."   
  


I hold it so dear 

what vampires turn to fear. 

It echoes near 

Under the ground.   
  


Tentacles, bandersnatches, bitter words, and golden lugers. "I knew you for a day, Steve." One dead boy to speak for. He loved her, and so acted like so many 17 year olds do--foolishly, and Claire just discarded it as ... well trouble. He gave her so much trouble in less than a day. Yet, there was this look in his eyes as he died, just under the mask of bitterness toward the world given to him by some unspoken deed within his tiny family.   
  


All she had was Chris. All Steve had was a dogeared portrait in his pocket. Now that family portrait was all that remained off someone who would likely be forgotten before any respect was paid to his death.   
  


"I failed you. God forgive me."   
  


Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison. 

Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison.   
  


Vacant zombie eyes--the saints were sending shivers down her spine. The undead don't get burials. She'd left dozens of bodies behind. Chris had too. Leon, everyone. She wondered if ghosts were real and how many of them Umbrella had created because of the unusual circumstances of their deaths. How many were still waiting for closure to cross over? If there was a spirit, if the body was still half-alive could it leave?   
  


The saints disappeared behind her and out of her mind.   
  


The living turn to shades. 

Souls like light cascade. 

The dead parade 

Under the ground.   
  


She walked toward the main altar and pulled a letter from her pocket. She'd scrawled it herself on a piece of notebook paper last night when her eyes refused to close for fear of the dreams. They hadn't stopped since she'd arrived in Raccoon City, and as she read the letter to herself she sincerely hoped that this would be a way of ending the dreams and thoughts. The true closure would be Umbrella's ultimate take-down, but the letter was closure to something else. The lives she personally affected.   
  


To Steve, Rodrigo, Alfred, Alexia, Birkin, and the Nameless Dead.   
  


Few thoughts remain. 

Soon there will be no pain 

when you are lain 

Under the ground.   
  


Claire removed the lighter from her pocket. It had been through as much as her. Chris had given it back to her on they return to Paris. He had told her about Rodrigo--the poor man. With a swift movement she lit it and stared at the flame.   
  


Let me live.   
  


It reminded her of the woman on her shirt. She felt like the woman on the shirt some days. So far she was still alive. Thank God for that.   
  


She touched the flickering lighter to the wick of an altar candle and watched the wax slowly melt down the sides. Her fingers rubbed the letter as she let one tear escape, afraid to cry, but afraid to be silent. She held the letter out as an offering to the candle and the flames licked it greedily. Time to let go.   
  


In the silence of the cathedral, Claire's voice whispered like an angel:   
  


"Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison. 

Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison."   
  


***FIN*** 


End file.
